


A Place To Stand

by pikalex88



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (with love and punk is how), Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Uprising Spoilers, trying to find a hopeful path out of the angst, while speculating about how one counters hostile hiveminds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikalex88/pseuds/pikalex88
Summary: Whether they were the worst days or the best days, Hermann could never decide. Days when “he’s not strong enough” became “I’m not strong enough.” Sharp vivid moments, surging forward to lay a hand on Newt's shoulder, his cheek. To grasp a flexing hand so cruelly pinned. The overwhelming need to *connect*.His best attempts to break through aren't working and in the face of a fruitless path, he needs to find a different approach.





	A Place To Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bat_country](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bat_country/gifts).



> This is my first attempt at fic in a very long time and stems from the most wonderful encouragement of bat_country! (aka shouting about our feelings all the time)  
> The concepts for this fic are something we came up with together and she'll be writing her own fic dealing with the same concepts as this one, which I can't wait to read! Edit: You can now found said amazing companion fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284707/

At this point it had become almost rote, though no less horrifying. Physical and emotional numbness seeping in as he sat in a rigid metal chair in front of the restrained and struggling form of his former labmate. Hours spent arguing, encouraging, pleading, trying to find some way to connect to the man he knew must still be inside and who he refused to believe would fail to attempt and answer his call. Most days, all he got was the mockery and aloof viciousness of that… thing. But some days. Whether they were the worst days or the best days, he could never decide. Days when “he’s not strong enough” became “I’m not strong enough”, when aggression became apology, when the unrelenting confidence this thing masquerading as Newton maintained even in this dingy cell crumpled and was briefly replaced with desperation and grief. Sharp vivid moments, surging forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, his cheek. To grasp a flexing hand so cruelly pinned. The overwhelming need to **connect**. Tripping over his own god damned tongue in his haste to get out the words he lay awake planning at night.

 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t working. He was treading the same ground, and as the reports he gave on his progress were met more with pity than with hope, he knew that his time was limited. And he would be damned if **this**  was the one problem he failed to solve, after saving his species from extinction not once, but twice. He had pitted his intellect against hostile alien intent and extra-dimensional macro phenomena, and he had won. What he needed was just to follow what those analytic instincts were telling him, which was that after too long pursuing a fruitless path, he needed to find a different approach.

 

The answer came to him in the bath, while he was trying to will his taut muscles to relax under the coaxing of hot water. Scrambling to get dressed (revelation aside he refused to take after his forebearers in _that_  regard), he stopped only to pick up a few necessary items before making his way to the detention level.

 

* * *

 

 

“Back twice in one day? Wow Herms, I mean I knew you were kind of a glutton for punishment but this is really taking it to a new level!”

 

Hermann ignored the taunting, setting down what he’d brought on his customary chair for lack of a table.

 

“So what’s it gonna be? The usual? Oh Newton, you must fight this, my good man, get a hold of yourself, I know you can beat them because we’re in this together by jove,” not-quite-Newt continued, affecting a mocking parody of Hermann’s speech (god, he’d always _hated_  when Newt did that but now what he’d give to hear it in the teasing tones of before). Yet not-Newt squirmed in his chair, craning to get a look at what Hermann had brought.

 

“Is that… a speaker? For real?”

 

Hermann met the thing’s incredulous look with an arched eyebrow and clicked play. He maintained eye contact as discordant punk began to echo loud and overbearing in this too small space, watching closely as Newt’s face shifted subtly between confusion and amusement with what Hermann dared to hope was a bit of discomfort.

 

“Uh, seriously Herms? I know I was kind of the ideas guy in our little relationship but are you actually trying to save him with the power of music? That’s sad buddy, like all of this has been pretty embarrassing to watch but I think you’ve hit a new low, it’s really-”

 

“Do you recognize it?” Hermann cut in sharply.

 

Newt laughed awkwardly. “For real dude, is this really the new interrogation style? Name that tune? Somehow I doubt you’ve got the Marshal’s approval for this one, they must really think you’ve cracked.”

 

“Name. It,” Hermann demanded, leaning forward and applying what Newt had once labelled a “category five death glare.”

 

“Fine! Jesus, dude. Iggy Pop. Lust for Life. Is this like a reverse psychology thing where you’re gonna torture yourself instead of me, cuz I’m pretty sure this wasn’t really your style, unless that one drift scrambled your brain up **real**  good.”

 

“You’re correct Newton, it is not _my style_ . In fact it is a song, if such clamour deserves that classification, which I **notably**  and **demonstrably**  dislike. Do you recall?”

 

Nothing but the incessant clinking of the tambourine, no retort, just a look of wary discomfort. _Good._

 

“2021. Lima. My first official harassment report to the PPDC, after you insisted on blaring this damnable song on loop for an entire afternoon. I would dearly like to forget it” _a lie_ ”but unfortunately it has been driven into my brain deeply enough to have taken up cognitive capacity that surely could have been used for other much more interesting and useful information.”

 

“Well, I’m not gonna apologize for forcing you to appreciate great music, if that’s what you’re trying to get at,” Newt responded and for a second Hermann swears he sees a twitch of a smile, of genuine instinctive amusement not twisted by malicious intent.

 

“Of course not. I believe at the time you responded by calling me a hypocrite and ‘baroque bastard’ due to my own musical choices, betraying both your childish inability to refrain from profanity as well as your fundamental lack of understanding in the compositional technique of the fugue.” Hermann answered, turning away from the answering scoff and grabbing a wrapped PPDC-branded packet from the chair, fastidiously peeling back the edge of the packaging.

 

“Is that cake? Kinda don’t have a free hand right now, what are you going to do, feed it to me? Oh my god you are. I thought you didn’t do public displays of affection, that’s real sweet of - wait, this is carrot cake, ew gross, no way dude, I’m gonna yartz.” Newt wrinkled his nose, cringing away from the offending iced square as far as his restraints would allow.

 

“Oh really Newton? Why would that be? It’s just cake, I’m sure they’ve hardly been indulging your sweet tooth lately.” Hermann persisted despite Newt’s squawking indignation, until finally as a smear of cream cheese caught on his nose Newt snapped.

 

“Fine! I can’t stand it after that time in Russia, I know you remember it cuz you were _there_ and it’s half your fault anyway.”

 

“Oh really,” Hermann said in satisfaction, “how do you figure that particular division of blame? I’m quite sure it was entirely your own hedonistic doing.”

 

“You’re the one who got along so well with the Kaidonovskys, no way I could get my hands on that much vodka. Like what even was up with that, I’m pretty sure they made it themselves and I am _certain_ the distillation process left something to be desired.”

 

“Mmm, and how many purloined packets of carrot cake did you choose to eat that night?”

 

“...”

 

“Twelve, Newton. You ate twelve pieces of carrot cake, washed down with copious amounts of vodka, and that you were dreadfully sick was an absolutely predictable consequence of your own choices which you only ignored due to your persistent prioritization of immediate gratification.”

 

The look of indignation and irritation on Newt’s face as he visibly started to work himself up for a retort was so heartbreakingly and endearingly familiar that Hermann couldn’t help making his mistake, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the icing off Newt’s face in a gesture too unmistakably tender. He froze as he saw the sudden pained realization on Newt’s face - _Newt’s_ face - but then in a smooth wave the arrogant mask reformed, the flow broken.

 

“Huh, that’s pretty clever Hermie. You sure do fall into the old banter pretty easily. Or I do. He does. Whatever. Too bad it’s not going to work twice.”

 

“We’ll see,” Hermann responded stiffly, turning away as he forced down his disappointment. This was progress. The theory was sound. Now it was merely a matter of application.

 

“I mean I keep trying to tell you man and you just don’t listen. You’re pitting one broken little man against us and well, not to brag but uh, we’re kind of talking another scale of being. Your whole world, it’s just a pitstop for us. We’re innumerable, we exist on a scale your little brains could hardly comprehend.”

 

“I’m not speaking to all of you. I am speaking with Newton,” Hermann stated, staring unflinching into angry and red rimmed eyes. “Do you remember when Ceramander made land and we were stuck in the back of the mess? You clambered onto a table to try and get a better look at the live feed, but slipped on Ranger Sevier’s abandoned mashed potatoes, tumbling down in an ungainly shower of curses and lukewarm gravy and of course **somehow**  managing to _break your arm_ . You then proceeded to resist the poor med tech trying to get you **out**  of the mess, only agreeing to leave when I volunteered to provide you with live relayed radio commentary of the ongoing attack because you, and I quote, “couldn’t miss the action.” **That**  is who you are Newton, not an all powerful avatar of some world ending overlords, not a destroyer of cities, you are an overexcitable and fragile man who utterly lacks any attentiveness to his environment.”

 

“Shut UP already,” Newt shouted and it was _working_ he could tell because they were furious and fighting to maintain it and he just needed to _press_ so he snatched up the recorder he’d brought and as the playback began “kaiju-human drift experiment take one... ” Newt’s eyes snapped to it, but Hermann grabbed his arm, forcing his attention back to himself as he talked over the recording because they both already knew the words, could never forget them if they tried.

 

“You’re an inconsiderate and obstinate disaster of a scientist. Your utter inability to express your ideas in an acceptable manner has lead to a lifetime of being undercut and underestimated by everyone you’ve ever worked with. I know because you told me. When you were fighting for funding and recognition and staying up penning letters because your peers treated you like a child and an oddity. When your counterculture aesthetic ran up against the rigorous conformity of the PPDC and you couldn’t stand how your ideas were evaluated not just on the basis of what they were, but how they were said… When you couldn’t even get through to me, with the fate of the world at stake. You were abandoned. Alone. But you didn’t let it stop you. You’ve never let it stop you, you hold to your own path even when no one else will follow you. And I’m sorry. That it took too long then, that it took so long now. But you have always been unabashedly yourself - loud, brash, irritating, brilliant. Decades we’ve known each other, and I’ve never even been able to convince you to stop putting open beverages near sensitive electronic equipment. You don’t have to be strong. You just have to be **you**.”

 

Teary but clear eyes met Hermann’s own and he dared to reach out again, tentatively cupping Newt’s cheek, and his relief when he felt the returning pressure of Newt leaning into his touch was enough to make his vision briefly swim.

 

“So… does this mean you’ll forgive me when I spill coffee on your tablet for the fifth time?” Newt asked with a wobbling, watery smile.

 

“Sixth. But yes. I simply reserve my right to retaliate by ensuring you can get your grubby hands on nothing but decaf for a week.”

 

Laughter, strained but genuine, burst from Newt, and while he knew this was still a single moment in a long and difficult journey, Hermann couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face and the feeling of something deep in his chest loosening. For once there was no panic to communicate or confess, just an appreciation for the sense of connection between them.

 

Eventually it was Newt who spoke up. “I don’t know how long we have Hermann, they’re still… there. Finding a way to crawl back in. I don’t even know how you did it man, I haven’t felt this much like me since… since… I’m not sure, I don’t even know, I get snippets but the bits in between are so confusing and wrong and-”

 

“I know. I know they’ll be back. But I will be back too. It’s simply a matter of redefining the problem. The hivemind is a terrible thing but its strength stems from the collective, and you are not a collective, Newt, you are a person. As long as you remember that, they cannot claim you. And I will come back every day to play your terrible music and remind you of every mortifying human thing you have ever done, until you no longer require it.”

 

“... and the awesome things too right? Like that time I rigged up some Loccent tech and threw the most amazing karaoke party ever? It’s not **all**  falling on my ass and making bad decisions.”

 

“Perhaps. I will endeavour to wrack my brain, though I wouldn’t get your hopes up”

 

“God you are such a **dick**.”

 

They weren’t going to get it all back in a day, he knew. Some of it would never be the same. But armed with a lever and a place to stand… they would get there. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> I've referenced Archimedes twice (I think Hermann would be a fan), plus obviously Iggy Pop. Fun fact, I did listen to Lust for Life for 2 straight hours to write this, and I do still enjoy it. The ending section is kinda secretly scored to Sonata Pathetique, not in fiction but in terms of accompaniment and writing aid. And as mentioned, bat_country's supporting my need to pace and rant about Uprising and feed my ideas with her own awesome thoughts is that has resulted in this whole thing, which she'll be covering more of herself! Edit: It's over here and it's AWESOME https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284707/


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